Remembrance
by reginaregal
Summary: Once Upon A Time AU in which Regina's spell that enabled Emma to have false memories of her life with Henry starts to fail. She begins seeing Regina in her dreams, and can't help but question her own reality. Will contain fluff, sadness, angst, drama, romance... a whole array of emotions. Not for the light of heart.


**A/N: **_Major spoilers to come, but you don't technically have to have even seen all of the show to understand. It's a developing plot that explains itself as it goes. However, I throw out little references to canon quotes, characters, and events from the show, so it might be fun to keep an eye out for those. Anyway, here's the somewhat-brief first chapter. Enjoy!_

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"Mom, we're going to be late!"

Emma groaned, pulling her covers up over her head. She was so comfortable, snuggled up in the warmth of her blankets. Why couldn't she sleep in just _five_ more minutes? Maybe if she ignored the voice, it'd go away. The voice would be understanding. Hopefully.

She heard the door open. Dammit. It didn't work.

"Really?" her son, Henry, said in disbelief. "You're still in bed?"

She slowly opened her eyes and stretched before sitting up, trying to stay in bed as long as she possibly could. "Sorry, kid… I'm up now, don't worry. God, I don't know where you got this early morning gene from. Not from me, that's for sure."

Henry rolled his eyes, smirking as he walked over to the curtains that had so successfully kept the light from leaking through into the room. Emma was slow to realize Henry's plan, but when she did, she was too late to stop him. He yanked the heavy drapes to the side with a sudden movement. Emma didn't understand how so much light could possibly pour through a single window as her eyes squinted in the sudden onset of glare. When they finally adjusted to the brightness, however, the first thing she saw was the snow-covered skyscrapers of her city and couldn't help but let out a small smile. She truly did love winter, but god. Why couldn't winter happen later in the day, at a more respectable hour? Like noon, perhaps.

Emma sighed as Henry left the room, reluctantly swinging her legs over the side of the mattress that would not stop calling her name. She stood up and walked over to her closet, not particularly eager to change out of her incredibly comfortable flannel pajamas, but very aware that it was necessary in order to get Henry to the bus stop on time.

Five minutes later, Emma was fully dressed in her jeans, boots, and a white sweater fit for the holidays. She may not be the early bird her son was, but she knew how to get dressed at remarkable speed, a skill she had picked up a long time ago when she realized just how much she enjoyed sleeping in.

She skipped steps down to the first floor of their apartment, and ran-walked to the kitchen, skillfully timing her graceful skid on the tiled floor to come to a perfect stop in front of the kitchen counter-top – another useless, albeit fun, skill in her repertoire.

"Did you have breakfast?" she asked her son, popping two slices of bread into the toaster for herself.

"Yep. Two pieces of toast and yogurt, just like you're about to have."

Emma grinned as she pulled open the fridge to grab a strawberry yogurt. "You know what they say: like mother, like son."

"But I had peach."

"You always have peach," Emma pointed out.

"And _you_ always have strawberry."

Their morning routine may have been just a _bit_ predictable, but Emma didn't mind. In fact, she'd grown to like the scheduled repetition domestic life gave her. It definitely beat the way things were with Henry's father, before he betrayed her and abandoned her to spend her pregnancy in a jail cell. But she wasn't bitter. At least, not much. How could she be when it gave her Henry?

She'd given birth to Henry in the prison's hospital ward, and originally planned to give him up for adoption. For his best chance, she tried to convince herself. However, upon holding him after his birth, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She loved him too much to let him go. Emma chose instead to allow social services to place him in a safe, loving, and temporary foster home – much unlike the ones she used to live in – while she served the remaining month and a half of her sentence, after which time she would get him back, and be able to raise him herself.

When Emma finally got out, the warden had given her a manila envelope along with her other belongings. The envelope had no return address and had been sent anonymously to the prison. She was told that the only instructions given along with the package were that Emma should receive it upon her release. The package only contained a single bank card in her name and a note.

_Miss Swan – you don't know me, and I don't ever expect you shall. However, I am familiar with your story and want nothing more than for your son to have his best chance. I gave you this in the hope that the money it provides you will keep you two safe and happy. Move where you've always dreamed of living, give Henry a good life, and use this to pay for his food, clothing, education – anything and everything he could possibly need or want for. This bank card gives you complete ownership over an account containing fifty million dollars, which is enough—and more, I'm sure—to cover the two of you for a lifetime. I know this may startle you, and I expect you'll want to go to the police to make sure this won't get you into any further trouble. Feel free, but you may rest assured that everything about this transaction was done legally. I wish you well. -R_

Emma's first reaction was to laugh. It must have been some sort of trick. Fifty _million dollars_? There was no way this was real. But when she went to the bank the next day, she found that the contents of the letter were indeed speaking the truth. Her first instinct was to suspect Henry's father of being behind this, despite the signed initial being a mysterious "R", but she knew immediately that would be ridiculous. Not only would he never be able to get his hands on that kind of money, but there was no way he knew about Henry. She'd made sure of that.

For a while, Emma had a very difficult time dealing with this change in her life. She didn't have much growing up_ –_ and by much, she meant basically nothing_ –_and especially after spending the last eleven months in prison, it was quite a shock for her. The source of the money remained a mystery, and after some time, Emma learned to accept the gift for what it was. Two years after she first received the package, she finally took the advice of the anonymous donor and moved from her small, cramped flat in Boston to a beautiful four-story townhouse in Manhattan, where she enrolled Henry in a good school as soon as he was old enough. It took some getting used to, but Emma grew accustomed to the life of the wealthy. She used her free time – which was quite a lot, considering her lack of need for a job – to start a new hobby. She took some basic photography classes, and fell in love with film photography, so much that she turned one of the rooms in the English basement of her townhouse into a full-functioning darkroom.

Now, Henry was almost twelve years old and on his way to his first day of middle school. As Emma shoved the last bit of toast into her mouth, she noticed Henry looking very impatient, as always.

Quickly chewing and swallowing, she said, "Calm down there, kid. We don't technically have to leave for another twenty minutes to get you to the bus on time."

"On time?" Henry asked with a mock-offended look on his face. "Why be on time when you can be _early_?"

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. That was so ridiculously like him – and unlike her. But she loved him for it.

"Let me just go brush my teeth…"

"No, you can brush your teeth when we get back. Come on!" Henry grabbed his mom by the arm and dragged her through the doors from the breakfast nook, into the dining room, through the hallway, past the living room, all the way to the front door. Emma could have sworn she hit every corner on the way out.

She didn't even bother to protest as she hurried along with him to keep her arm from being torn from its socket. Henry hadn't been this excited about anything since he'd won first prize at his fourth-grade science fair. (And yes, he did have a fifth grade science fair. It hadn't gone very well. He preferred not to talk about it.)

They reached the bus stop almost twenty minutes early, as Emma had predicted.

"Now what?" Emma asked.

She looked around at the enormous skyscrapers and wondered for the hundredth time what she did in her life to have deserved the absolutely insane amount of money "R" had given her so many years ago. Her life with Henry had become everything she'd hoped but had never dared imagine it to be. Here he was, sitting down on a snow-covered bench, ready to go to middle school for the first time. He was starting part-way through the year because the two of them had spent the last couple months vacationing in Europe. Europe, of all places. Emma still could barely believe it. If she'd gone back in time to tell her younger self that one day she'd be vacationing in Europe with her son, she'd have laughed herself into the next century. She wanted to go there for a photography project she was working on, depicting a tourist view on non-touristy locations. It hadn't quite turned out the way she'd hoped, but it didn't matter. She and Henry had enjoyed the trip immensely, and that was all that truly mattered. She'd applied for a homeschooling certificate to help Henry keep up with his curriculum back home while in Europe, and being a diligent student, Henry had learned it all without complaint and without a problem.

"Now, we can talk."

"About what?"

"Anything you want. What's on your mind, Mom?"

Emma paused to think. She didn't really have any problems in her life, at least not any that she could share with the kid. "R" made sure of that. The only thing that came to mind was the odd dream she'd had the night before. But she wasn't exactly sure how to explain something like that to Henry. Then again, it _was_ just a dream…

"What is it?" Henry stood up and walked over to where she was standing. "I can see you're thinking of something."

"Smart kid," Emma said, smirking. He always seemed to be able to read people like a book; the two of them had that much in common. Emma could usually tell when someone was lying, which made parenting much easier. Henry knew he could almost never get away with lying to her, so he didn't even try. "It's nothing, really. Just a weird dream I had last night."

"I love dreams! Please tell me?" Henry begged, plopping his butt down on the bench. He brushed the snow off beside him and motioned for Emma to sit.

"It wasn't a happy dream, Henry. Nothing like that. It was more like a nightmare, really..." Emma started to wish she hadn't even brought it up. She blurted a lot, and often didn't think before speaking, which could be problematic. But it'd also helped bring her and Henry closer together. The one thing Henry found unforgivable, even when he was younger, was when people shut him out or lied to him.

"So?" Henry pouted, crossing his arms.

"Oh, alright." She took a deep, hesitant breath before continuing. "I dreamt that I gave you up, Henry. When you were a baby. I had a dream that I gave you up for adoption, and didn't see you again until you were ten."

"Did I at least have a rocking new family that adopted me?" Henry asked eagerly. "Oh! Did I have any siblings?"

Emma shook her head, relieved that he'd reacted so positively. That could have turned out a lot differently. Henry often read into things quite extensively and found meanings that she didn't intend. "No. Well, I mean, maybe. I don't know. I don't remember."

"How do you not remember?" He looked disappointed.

"Because not everyone is like you, Henry," she laughed. "It's a dream! It's not real. There may not even have been details _to _remember. That's not how dreams work."

Henry shook his head. "I don't believe that. Don't you know what they say about dreams?"

"No, what?"

"That they're memories. Memories of a past life."

"I'm sure they are, kid." She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sure they are."

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**A/N:** _So this is the first chapter of Remembrance, a fic I'm writing inspired by a prompt from tumblr. I really appreciate feedback of any sort (including suggestions and ideas for further chapters, as this is a very flexible plot for me), and if you liked it, and could spread the word about it as much as possible, that would be great!_


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